


High School Memories

by zaticon1



Category: Emetophilia - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaticon1/pseuds/zaticon1





	High School Memories

When I was in high school, I had an attractive female classmate. She had the kind of presence that exuded sexuality more than beauty. Picture Jayne Mansfield or Anna Nicole Smith, as opposed to Lauren Bacall or Michelle Pfeiffer. I was taken with her and, considering the subject of this forum, one can guess the direction of my fantasies about her. I have two fond, if only titillating memories. The first came during a field trip that began and ended with long bus rides over an old and winding highway. It was a fun adventure, involving trips to several museums and historical sights. The outing ended with dinner at a pretty nice restaurant. We grew up in a rural area, so an occasion such as this was a treat; one in which the girl indulged to an unwise degree. About two thirds through the ride home, we reached the long, twisty portion of the highway. The route was not only winding, but hilly. In addition to motion, the riders were subjected to fluctuating G forces. I was long over my childhood propensity for carsickness, but it turned out that she wasn’t. She and her friends were seated one row ahead of me and on the opposite side of the center aisle. At the beginning of the ride, she and her seatmates had been as bouncy and giggly as any group of high school friends, enjoying a good time. Before long, this changed. I have always been a hawk at spotting “The Look.” When she stopped laughing along with her friends, giving short, curt answers when they spoke to her, sitting stock still in her seat and resting her head on the window frame, I knew what was happening. I was not mistaken. Before long, the girl seated on the aisle got up and hurried over to speak to the female chaperone. The woman stood and hurried back to investigate. I couldn’t see the sick girls’ face, but the truth must have been obvious, because, without speaking a word, the woman rushed back to the front of the bus to inform the driver of the problem. She then came back and told the girl that there was a gas station just a couple of miles ahead. “Can you make it, Sweetheart?” The girl shook her head. Looking worried, the woman said, “Well…TRY.” She went back to speak with the driver again, then took her seat. A few minutes later, we pulled into the station. Immediately, the woman collected the girl and hurried her toward the door of the bus, while we all remained in our seats, as ordered. The girl was on the verge of tears as the woman took her by both arms and drew her to her feet. “I’m NOT gonn’a make it,” she said. Unfortunately, she at least managed to keep it down until she was out of sight, if not safely in front of a toilet. Many minutes later, the woman led the pale, exhausted looking girl back to her seat. Her friends shot her all of the obvious questions; “Are you all right?” “Feel better, now?” “’Think you’ll do it, again?” She just gave them all a weak smile and said, “”I’m fine, now.” I’ll tell you, by the time it was my turn to get off of that bus, I could barely stand up straight and my you-now-whats were the same color as my Levis. Either that year or the next, the girl and I had a science class together. It was sort of an omnibus of things, including geology, astronomy and, unfortunately for her, biology. One of the class requirements was the dissection of a fetal pig. She was only one of a couple of kids who could not handle the job. I saw her wandering around the room, as far from the action as she could get. Her body language and facial expression were almost as arresting as they’d been during those last few moments on the bus. She was pacing around, with her arms folded, eyes down, with that scared/sad look that we all recognize. I remember that she was wearing one of those old fashioned, long sleeved high collared blouses that are called, “shirtwaists.” This experience, along with seeing a photo of Raquel Welch dressed in one at about the same time, are undoubtedly why I still find the things DOG WHISTLE sexy! I would probably have gotten a better grade on the dissection, if I’d kept at LEAST one eye on what I was doing, but I didn’t care then, OR now. When she stopped moving all together and started hovering near the sink at the back of the room I suddenly decided that I absolutely HAD to wash my scalpel before going on with my work. I strolled on back and, as I passed by, heard her making stifled little “Glluuk! Gluukkk!” noises, through her tightly closed mouth. I dithered around, hoping with all my hormones that she dash over and shove me aside, at any moment. When this happened, I would, of course hang around and display my gallantry by standing by and “comforting” her, no matter how “distasteful” the experience might have been. :-D This didn’t happen, though and I left the class disappointed and seriously pissed that it was the last period BEFORE lunch, instead of the first one AFTER it.


End file.
